


The Story of a Whaler

by JamyCatalyst (OutcastPack)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Assassins, Dad Daud, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Multi, Nobility, OC centric, Religion, adoptive father, brain washing, questionable life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7195811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutcastPack/pseuds/JamyCatalyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Here’s the deal kid, you have a choice. You either stay here and most likely find yourself at the guillotine in a weeks’ time.” Daud pauses, letting the thought of a beheading sink in. As if I didn’t already know that. “Or you come with me, learn to become a spy and an assassin, far away from the Seven Strictures, The Abbey, and The Overseers.” He offers, and to be honest nothing had ever sounded sweeter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of a Whaler

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the awesome Dishonored 2 gameplay demo at E3, here's my Dishonored OC.

_ _

_The Story of a Whaler:_

**“The Noble Blade”**

Morley is one of the northern islands of the Empire of the Isles. Ruled by a king, the isle has a gloomy climate and a hardy people. The cities of Morley include: Alba, Arran, Caulkenny, Fraeport, and Wynnedown.

I was born in the coastal city of Wynnedown in 1807 during The Month of Songs. I was born into the noble family of the Wilkerson’s. A family who stubbornly clung onto the old ways of the Abbey and who had ties to it even in Morley; which was strange since the people of Morley had barely any interest in religion. My mother named me Delia, a name which meant darkness, because it was dark out when I was born, on the edge of becoming a new day, but darkest before the dawn.

I have one older brother; Deacon the heir to the family’s nobility, and a younger sister; Tiffany who was mother’s favorite. Being the middle sibling meant I was easily forgotten, and that suited me just fine. It meant I could read in the library without anyone nagging me, it meant I could explore the rich culture filled streets of Morley on my own, it meant I could sing and dance with the gypsies, it meant I could paint and write without anyone noticing, it meant I could explore the world on my own and learn.

When I wasn’t yet old enough to explore I was cared for by a nanny named Silvia who had her own children I got to play with. She told me stories of pirates, and read me books about men of science. Silvia always treated me as if I was one of her own, and I loved her for it. My own mother however treated me like a doll, I had to be pretty and I had to sit up straight and be quiet and still. It was a great relief to me when beautiful blond fair skinned Tiffany was born.

Me, well I had curly untamed black hair and strange gold eyes with a bit of red in them. My mother hated how I looked, and was never afraid to tell me so. Apparently I looked an awful lot like my father’s estranged brother instead of my father or mother. And no one would ever tell me why Uncle Carver wasn’t allowed in the family anymore, so I stopped asking.

My days in the beautiful rainy coast side city of Morley were peaceful and full of discovery and making friends. I came home late at night covered in dirt and sweat, or paint and ink. Silvia would always let me in and clean me up, give me an alibi if I needed it.  She knew if father ever caught me I’d be in big trouble, I just wish she would have explained how much trouble.

I was thirteen, it was the year of 1807, The Month of Darkness, when Silvia was found dead at our doorstep, stabbed and bleeding out. I…I had been the first to find her. And I will never forget the blood and the look of fear on her face. Eyes dead, she was still screaming silently, mouth gaping open. I held her, tears streaming down my face, as other servants found me. She had been my mother, not that noble wretch, but this strong jawed hefty older woman who spoke her mind without fear. I had loved her like no other, and someone had taken her from me, it almost felt like they had left her for me to find, for me to grieve.

It was the first time I felt total anger and complete despair at the same time. I was inconsolable for weeks, hidden in dark places as I cried. But I would always go to dinner, as Silvia had taught me I at least needed one good meal a day, and even after everything I did not want to upset her spirit. But that day, two weeks after her death, having been caught in the library silently reading natural philosophy a day before by my father, which already irritated my parents enough, I finally went too far.

That night my family sat at the table, silent and tense, eating, when my mother spoke up. “I don’t even know why your so upset Delia, she was just the _help_.”

Something broke in me, I could feel it. A resolve; something I’d kept control over and buried. It leapt up inside me and bared its fangs, breaking the thing that once caged it. Taking the knife from my left side that was on the table, I threw it at her, and it slotted into the wall an inch away from her face, she screamed. Not but a moment later I found myself locked in my room, having been manhandled away as I yelled profanities at my mother for the first time. I had never felt such rage before and there was even some blood lust there, hidden beneath the surface.

Not but a few days later an Overseer came for me, everything inside me hoped it was because I was being arrested. But when my father told the Overseer what I had done and that I had been interested in science and philosophy, they both agreed it was best for me to be taken to the Abbey, so that I could be washed free of my sins. My father gave me to them, The Abbey of the Everyman, so that I could become an Overseer in training. My father’s last words, as I was taken away; was that it was for the best.

The year of 1820 on the last days of The Month of Darkness, I found myself on a ship to Whitecliff, never to return home. I was no longer Delia Wilkerson, now I was just Delia; the sacrifice.

The Trails of Aptitude go as such:

 ‘ _Children who have the proper inclination for the position of Overseer are marked by the Abbey and observed for several months to determine whether this inclination is supported by cosmological conditions and other signs, ongoing throughout the year. Those found to be worthy are abducted from their homes and, after several months of spiritual preparation, make a pilgrimage to Whitecliff. There they undergo the Trials of Aptitude, which determine who among them is worthy to become an Overseer.’_

But in my case I was given to the Abbey to submit to the trails. Seven years, the Trails of Aptitude lasted seven long Void-damned years. For seven years I was caged up in the Abbey; forced to pray, clean, train, sleep, and eat. I begged for books, but the only books I was allowed to read were about the Abbey or the Seven Strictures. I felt like I was slowly starting to lose myself. But as time went by I saw the cracks in the system.

 For one there were barely any women in training, but plenty of young eager men. Tricking teenaged boys was easy enough, but most of them were gullible and became brain washed by the Abbey quickly. However, there were one or two like me, who would rather be at The Academy of Natural Philosophy then here. With their help I smuggled contraband in. The four of us; Tony, Michelle (one of the only other girls), me, and Barry became good lairs within the Abbey. During the day we’d pray like good boys and girls, but at night we studied science, painted, drew, and very quietly we sang and danced.

As they say; you can take the girl away from Morley but you can’t take the Morley out of the girl.

Then in the year of 1827 in The Month of Rain an Overseer woke several of us trainees up early and said we were going to the Proving Ground. Something inside of me was scared. Growing up as a noble my instincts should have been dulled, but then again there were days where I wasn’t a noble. On good days I was just a kid on the streets of Wynnedown, free to live life. The days I became a hidden heretic within the Abbey, they helped sharpen the instincts that were already there too. And by now my instincts were louder than ever before, and I knew something wasn’t right.

We didn’t end up at the Proving Ground. The ten of us ended up at a cliff, and when two more Overseers appeared, my group of four; my friends, began to panic. They told us to recite the Strictures from memory then asked us to pray. We knelt to our knees and began to pray. But I didn’t, I kneeled down and pretended too, but I watched the Overseers closely. So when they held their swords to my friend’s necks I couldn’t get up fast enough. Tony and Michelle died right in front of me, decapitated, and I wasn’t fast enough to save them.

I hadn’t felt such rage in a long time, seven years to be exact, and then I felt the full effect of blood lust on the mind. I may not have saw red, but I grinded my teeth and roared like an animal. Later, I’d tell people that I don’t remember what happened at the cliff, but that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told. I remember it with such clarity it almost seems like it happened moments ago even years later.

I kicked the Overseer closest to me with all my might, and as he falls backwards, surprised by my attack, I grab his sword from his hands. The moment he hits the ground I send the tip of his blade through his throat. Blood flows up like a fountain, and he gurgles out a pain filled cry.

The last two Overseers attack me quickly, I dodge one, but I get hit by the blade of the other. He strikes my shoulder, but I don’t feel it until hours later. The blade I hold hits the side of the Overseer I dodged’s neck. He falls, gurgling as the last one did. In an outrage the third Overseer tries to tackle me, but I’m quick to dodge and slid around his slow form. He hits the ground and I put the blade through his heart.

By the end I’m covered in blood and sweat. My shoulder has a gash that weeps blood, and the surviving trainees stare at me, terrified. Barry runs, but the six trainees that are left scream heresy and witch at me. Before I can run like Barry did I pass out, and when I awake I find myself in prison, awaiting a trial at Dunwall.

I’m eighteen years old when I’m sent on a convoy to Dunwall. My hands are shackled, a muzzle on my mouth, a cloth wrapped around my shoulder. It’s only been a week but the people of Whitecliff already have names for me. Delia the Dark, Delia the Beast, Delia the Bloody, it goes on. They throw rocks at the wagon that takes me away. Apparently whoever told the people about me really drummed up the drama, from what I recall the young trainee who _‘caught’_ me ran back to the Abbey to tell the Overseers about his heroic fight against a witch.

The journey is long and uncomfortable, the gash on my shoulder aches. But as we reach the streets of Dunwall the carriage is attacked. I don’t see anything until a man in a long coat and vapor mask pulls the Overseers out of the wagon I was in. Then two more men appear, both wearing coats and vapor masks as well. They kill the other Overseer guarding me, and look through the carriage thoroughly.

Suddenly, a man with a red coat and no mask on appears, out of thin air. I gasp and look around, amazed by such a feat.

“This is the wrong carriage.” The man with the red coat and the scar on his face says plainly.

“Sorry, I’ll have Rulfio check again.” One of the others wearing a blue coat replies, but she has a feminine voice and from it I was able to gather that she was young woman. Which I was not expecting, since I could not tell that through the mask and thick layered clothing she was wearing.

“See to it.” The man says, voice deep and commanding. And after she nods she disappears just as the man had appeared. Its then I notice the others are gone too.

When his blue eyes land on me I feel a shiver go up my spine. He narrows his eyes, and then with his left hand he forms a fist. Even with the leather gloves on I can see something shine brightly from his hand. Suddenly a man in a blue coat and vapor mask appears.

“Daud.” The man in the blue coat says, bowing.

I tilt my head and think on that name. The Abbey had taught trainees about The Knife of Dunwall, he was the second most vile man in The Abbey’s eyes, right below The Outsider himself. Daud was known to be a powerful witch who could spread his power and Void taint to others. While most in the Abbey had feared him, I had always been interested. But once again I could never find any true source of information about him.

“Whose is this Petro?” Daud asks the man in the blue coat, while never taking his eyes off of me.

The man, Petro apparently, appears in front of me and I jump back. He looks at me, and then looks around the carriage. He finds some papers beside me, papers that one of the Overseers had been reading. He then appears beside Daud again, and reads the papers.

“A Delia Wilkerson of the noble Wilkerson family in Morley and the city of Wynnedown, eighteen years of age and an ex-Overseer in training. She killed three Overseers in cold blood the day her Trail of Aptitude was over. Apparently they think she’s a witch since she was capable of killing three of the Overseers in charge of training, sir.”

“Interesting.” Daud thinks for a moment, and then I blink and he’s in the carriage beside me. My heart begins to speed up, but I don’t know if it’s in fear or excitement. Gently, he takes the muzzle off of my face and looks eye to eye with me. “Here’s the deal kid, you have a choice. You either stay here and most likely find yourself at the guillotine in a weeks’ time.” Daud pauses, letting the thought of a beheading sink in. As if I didn’t already know that. “Or you come with me, learn to become a spy and an assassin, far away from the Seven Strictures, The Abbey, and The Overseers.” He offers, and to be honest nothing had ever sounded sweeter.

“I’ll go with you, Knife of Dunwall.” And I take his hand.

I never thought, all those years of nobility or being in the Abbey, I never ever thought I’d become an assassin. But being a Whaler finally felt like coming home. That day Delia, just Delia, became _Delia of the Darkness_. And I never looked back.


End file.
